Will the Real Baby Face Please Stand Up?
by LuckyLadybug
Summary: Sequel to The Return of Baby Face Morales. Several weeks after the events of that story, Micky has a strange encounter and accident and ends up believing that he is the notorious gangster Baby Face Morales.
1. Prologue: Honor Among Thieves?

**The Monkees  
Will the Real Baby Face Please Stand Up?  
By Lucky_Ladybug**

Notes: The characters aren't mine (except Linda) and the story is. This is a semi-sequel/follow-up to _**The Return of Baby Face Morales**_** (why yes, anonymous MonkeeFan, I did think of writing a sequel, and I did around the same time I wrote the original six years ago. ;) I hope you enjoy this one too!), so it would be helpful to have read that first in order to understand what's going on here. However, it isn't completely necessary.**

Prologue

The rain beat down hard on the old, tan-colored Pontiac as its driver maneuvered it through the woods. The almost non-existent road was filled with bumps, rocks, and even small shrubs that had blown there from the surrounding area, and every now and then the vehicle rolled over them. The occupants were then jostled about, which was annoying for most of them and dangerous for another, who was badly wounded.

The curly-haired man sitting in the passenger seat turned, frowning in concern at the heavyset driver. "The police could be on our tail by now," he remarked. He rarely spoke, and when he did, it was generally to state the obvious or to agree with what one of the others said—though sometimes he also said something surprising that showed that he must spend a great deal of time pondering. This, however, was not one of those times.

"I already know that!" was the irritated reply. "But they won't have much luck getting past the way we've come." At least two trees had fallen in the main road behind them, due to the strong winds, and the only other path in that direction was completely dirt-filled and was probably mud by now. If any cars tried to go along that road, they would undoubtedly become stuck.

"Where are we even going?" exclaimed a dark-haired woman who was sitting in the back and trying to tend to their badly injured companion. "I don't think Tony will last much longer if we don't stop somewhere and treat his wounds properly!" She bit her lip, trying to make certain that the makeshift bandages stayed in place. Though she had taken several nursing classes in the past, it was difficult to do anything when they were practically tumbling down the road.

"We've got a hideout in the next canyon over," the driver answered. There was an opening to get back on the main road, but he did not dare. There could be police stationed at checkpoints all along the highway, waiting to intercept them. It was safest to stay where they were, on the road that was almost not a road at all. "Do you think he'll hold out till then?"

"It's hard to say," the female said, hesitant. Part of her did not want to be there at all, but she felt so extremely lost and alone—and these were the only people with whom she felt the least bit comfortable being around, after what she had done and had been a part of. She was destined, it seemed, to remain with these mobsters in the pit she had dug for herself. And she did not want to see anyone else die, not even the criminal who was lying on the seat next to her.

But, as it turned out, the one called Tony did survive. The mob managed to reach their secret cabin without being discovered by any of the police officers—who had most likely been forced to call off the search due to the storm. After they succeeded in getting Tony inside, the woman went to work tending to the various gunshot wounds he had sustained during the gang war they had just fled from. The other two gangsters paced around the cabin, tense and edgy, and discussed the events of the past day.

"Do you think Baby Face is really dead?" the one who had been in the passenger seat asked the driver.

"I don't know. It sure didn't look good for him," was the reply. "Both he and that guy went right over the edge of that waterfall, but the musician managed to get himself back up." He frowned. "I guess Baby Face could've found some way out, but it really looked like curtains for him."

"I guess Tony would be glad if that happened." The older man looked thoughtful. "He's been wanting to get rid of Baby Face for a long time now."

"Yeah, I guess so." The dark-haired man frowned. "It still seems kinda strange, though, for them to be at odds like this. All of us worked with Baby Face for years, but things were never the same after that DeWitt caper that landed him in jail that time. Suddenly Tony just wanted to take over, and he didn't want to let Baby Face be the boss again when he finally did break out of the slammer."

"I guess that's what happens when you get a taste of what power is like." His friend did not seem too surprised. "And I think Tony was always a bit afraid of Baby Face, after he really found out how violent he could get with anyone at any time."

"Nah," the driver replied. "Tony wasn't scared of Baby Face. At least, not until Baby Face almost killed him during the DeWitt caper. Tony didn't want to let him back into the gang because of self-preservation."

"It's a good enough reason," said the other. "I can't blame him. I was leery of Baby Face after the DeWitt mess, too."

Their conversation halted when they heard the female's high-heeled shoes clicking on the hard wood floor. Both men looked up at her.

"How is he, Linda?" queried the driver.

Linda sighed, exhaustion obvious in her eyes and on her face. "I've got him stabilized," she answered, "but I'm not sure whether he needs a blood transfusion or not. And of course there's no way to do something like that out in the middle of nowhere, without the proper equipment." She ran a hand through her hair. "We'll have to wait and see how he fares over the next few hours."

With that she collapsed into a chair, her features knitted in contemplation. She frowned, looking back up at the two mobsters. "Does it even matter to either of you whether he lives or dies?"

They looked at her in surprise, finding themselves at a loss for words. "Of course," said the older man at last.

"I don't want him to die," said the other.

Linda frowned, unconvinced. "You've known him for years," she went on, "but if the opportunity ever came up, you'd probably just betray him the same way all of you betrayed Baby Face. There's not any honor among mobs like yours and his." She glared at the floor.

As she did, a splash of red caught her eye. She still had a bit of Tony's blood on her skirt. That would not wash out easily. Instead it would serve as a reminder that it had been her fault that Tony had been shot in the first place. She sighed, placing a hand over her forehead.

"That's not true, Linda," the dark-haired man protested then. "We wouldn't turn against Tony."

Linda looked back up at him, her eyes displaying the weariness and the disillusionment of one who has spent too much time in a place where she does not belong. "Then tell me how it is, Vince," she retorted. "Tell me what kind of honor you have, because I would really like to know."

Vince—who was also known by the alias Mugsy—sighed softly and went over to Linda. How could he explain things to her? The truth was that he, at least, did not want Tony dead—and there was a part of him that missed the old days, when all of them had worked with Baby Face. But for whatever reasons—fear, powerlust, hatred—Tony had not wanted Baby Face to get back into their mob. A bitter war had erupted between the two former associates and Vince had opted to stay with Tony—not out of fear for his life, but because he considered Tony to be his friend. He felt that if things had been reversed, and Tony had been the one who had been arrested, that Baby Face would not have wanted to let him back into the mob, either—albeit for different reasons.

But as for Linda's question, he did not have an answer. Maybe she was even right. Maybe there was not any honor in the gang.


	2. Who's Who?

**Chapter One  
Several Weeks Later**

Micky sighed to himself as he wandered down the streets of the Los Angeles suburb. It had been nearly a month since Baby Face had disappeared and had been declared dead by the police. And that meant that it was nearly two months since he himself had been shot by the heartless mobster. He was almost completely recovered now, for which he was grateful. He had been playing the gigs with the others again and for the most part, it seemed that everything was normal.

Except that he could not ignore the eerie feeling that he was being followed. Narrowing his eyes, he spun around. The street seemed to be entirely deserted, save for himself. Was it all in his imagination? No, he did not want to think that. It made him feel as if he was paranoid or even crazy, and he was certain that he was not either of those things.

If someone truly were following him, maybe it was Tony or one of his gang members. The police had never found any of them, and Micky had decided that Tony was probably still alive but recovering and that the gang was hiding somewhere. Of course, Tony could also be dead and the rest of the gang was hiding while they determined what they should do next. There was not any end to the possibilities. If he got down to it, there was even the chance that it was Baby Face who was shadowing him—if anyone truly was.

"Alright," he finally yelled after things had gone on like this for another block, "if someone's following me, I want you to come out right now before I really get mad." It was more likely that he would become panicked instead of mad, but there was not any sense in mentioning that fact. Nervously he looked around. There was only silence. Could he relax?

"So, I've caught up to you at last," growled an unfamiliar, but dangerous voice. Swallowing a cry of alarm, Micky slowly turned around. He was facing a vicious-looking man wearing a pin-striped suit and bearing a scar on the left side of his face.

"Oh, hi," he gulped, trying to weakly smile and to quickly think of a way out of this mess at the same time. "I don't think we've met."

The man gave him an expression of mock hurt. "You've forgotten? You know, Morales, I didn't think that you ever forgot anything—especially not one of your old rivals." He advanced threateningly and Micky backed up, his eyes widening.

"Hey, come on!" he gasped. Now he understood what was happening—and it terrified him. "I'm not Baby Face Morales! I'm the other guy! Remember, they talked about someone who looked just like Baby Face?"

This man was not buying it. "Yeah, I heard something about that," was the thoughtful reply, "but that's just the sort of excuse Baby Face would hide behind. I can't know whether you're really the musician guy or not." He grabbed a handful of Micky's shirt. "Maybe Baby Face would even decide to pretend to be the musician, in order to get off scot-free. Maybe it was really that other guy who went over the falls and Baby Face is the one who came back alive." He yanked the Monkee toward him with a threatening air.

In desperation Micky struggled to get free. "No!" he yelped. "That's not true at all! Baby Face is sneaky and vicious! I'm not! I'm really not! Look, do I look sneaky and vicious? I'm just a fun-loving kid!"

Not impressed, the hood shoved Micky hard against a nearby brick wall. "I've never really known Baby Face to act so panicky before," he admitted, "but that could all be part of the act." He pushed harder and Micky strained against him. The bricks were digging painfully into his back. "Or maybe," the crook decided, "you're not so tough without your gang members to back you up."

Now Micky was even more panicked. He grabbed the man's wrists, struggling to pry them away from him. "I'm not Baby Face!" he said in complete frustration. "Can't you believe me?"

"We never believe anyone in our line of work," was the sneering reply.

Again Micky was slammed against the wall. Stars and colors danced in front of his eyes. Groaning, he reached up to rub at his head. He had been hit very hard; was he going to pass out? If he did, would he even wake up again? With this man insisting on attacking him, it was hard telling what would happen. He had to battle to stay conscious.

"Hey, LeRoy, what are you doing?" Vaguely through the fog there was another voice talking. Micky blinked away the last of the stars. Another man was approaching who looked like a mobster. The Monkee swallowed hard. Now, for sure, it was all over for him.

"I've cornered Baby Face Morales," LeRoy answered with a smirk. "He's a dead man now."

"You idiot!" snapped the second person. "This isn't Baby Face. Even if the guy was acting, he wouldn't be able to stand to keep at it if someone was attacking him. If that was really Baby Face, you'd be dead now yourself!"

Now the speaker came over to Micky, searching his half-dazed eyes. After a moment he nodded in approval. "And just look in his eyes, for crying out loud. You know that Baby Face's eyes are cold and hard. This guy doesn't have the eyes of a sneaky, vicious murderer. Let him go, LeRoy. You've made a mistake."

LeRoy frowned in suspicion, obviously still not quite convinced. But after a moment his eyes narrowed and he nodded as well. "Alright. Sorry about that, buddy," he said to Micky, releasing him and stepping back. He would have to accept his friend's word on the matter; the more he thought about it it was obvious how very odd and out of character this person seemed to be for Baby Face. There truly was not a logical reason why this would be Baby Face, so perhaps the news story was actually correct and the real Baby Face was already deceased.

"It's . . . it's okay," Micky managed to weakly say, gripping the brick wall as he tried to straighten up. "I just hope it doesn't happen again."

"It won't," the second man assured him as he started leading LeRoy off.

Micky sighed in relief when they were gone. Slowly he pushed himself away from the wall, looking around for any other signs of life. But now that the gangsters had fled, Micky seemed to be the only one left on the street. He frowned slightly. That was odd.

He stumbled away, holding a hand to his forehead.

"Man, I must've hit my head harder than I thought," he mumbled to himself as he made his way to a nearby bench. At this point, it did not look like he could even get back home. Maybe if he just sat there for a few minutes and rested, the dizziness would pass and he would be able to continue on his way. At least, that was the original plan.

Micky did not know how long he ended up staying on that bench. Almost as soon as he sank down on it, the light-headedness overwhelmed him and he fell unconscious. Several people walked by him while he was in that state, but they dismissed him as being drunk or on drugs and did not stop to help. By the time he came to again, it was night.

Slowly he opened his eyes, trying to focus on the world around him. In the distance there were car motors and horns, and on the block he was on the sounds of people walking past came every now and then. At first nothing seemed to make sense. Where was he? Why was he on a bench in the middle of seemingly nowhere? And why was he wearing such ridiculous clothes?

He frowned, carefully pulling himself into a sitting position. Another wave of dizziness began to come over him and he winced and reached to rub at his head. That seemed to quell the pain somewhat. He tried to relax. If he could just remain calm, maybe he could sort out what had happened.

He had been attacked, that was obvious enough. But who had done it, and why had they left him alive? He had so many enemies, after all, and they all wanted him dead, not merely rendered unconscious with a headache. He could get nasty when he had a headache, or any other kind of injury. And if he could remember who had done this to him, they would regret it.

"Ow," he hissed, leaning forward on the bench.

After another long moment, he felt well enough to attempt standing. He would go to the Purple Pelican. Perhaps someone there would know what had happened. And at any rate, Ruby would likely be there. She would fuss over him and be concerned that he was badly hurt, but at least she would do everything she could to try to ease the pain. Right now, that was the main thing he wanted. Well, that and finding something more fitting to wear.

Micky never stopped to think about going back to the Pad, or what the other three would be thinking. Of course, this was not Micky's fault and he could not be blamed. The mind often works in strange ways, and after the physical trauma that Micky had suffered, coupled with the reason why it had happened, he had woken up believing himself to be Baby Face Morales.

xxxx

The other Monkees, meanwhile, were frantically looking for their friend and wondering where on earth he could have gone. They had been all over the city, and though some people had remembered seeing Micky in the afternoon, no one had seen him since night had fallen. By now they were highly concerned.

"I just don't understand it!" Davy said, throwing up his hands in frustration. "He was just going on a bloody walk. How long could that take him?"

"Well, it shouldn't take him seven hours, at any rate," Mike muttered.

Peter swallowed hard, the worry apparent in his eyes as they wandered around another corner. "Maybe Baby Face isn't dead after all and he came and took him," he worried.

Mike frowned. "It's been almost a month," he said. Still, it was a possibility that they should not ignore. It was hard to know what was going on in a deranged mind such as Baby Face's. In spite of the fact that Micky had tried to help the gangster back up when he had fallen over the edge, perhaps Baby Face would not be grateful and would simply come after Micky again. Mike was not willing to put anything past him.

"He could've been in hiding all this time," Peter pointed out. He was growing a bit uneasy as they headed for the bad part of the city. He moved closer to Mike.

"He probably has been, too," Davy added, "if he's still alive at all." Quickly he moved out of the way as a man staggered past him and the others. "And why are we coming down this way at all?" he exclaimed, feeling in his pocket to make certain that his wallet was still intact. "Micky is never in this part of town."

"Well," Mike sighed, "we oughtta check everywhere. Someone could've mugged him and dragged him here somewhere." But he could not deny that he also did not like wandering around in this neighborhood. There were all kinds of punks and hoods that roamed through the area, in addition to the drunks and drug addicts. Mike wanted to get out of there as soon as possible.

"Maybe we'd better go to the police," Peter gulped, seeing two men up ahead who were loudly singing off-key as they waved half-empty liquor bottles around.

"They probably can't do much," Davy sighed.

"It wouldn't hurt to try, though," Mike admitted, leading the others across the street before the two inebriated men could catch up with them.

"It's too bad that we don't have a way of finding out if Baby Face is back," Davy muttered. "The police just decided that he's dead and probably don't think anymore about him, but he could be out somewhere right now, planning some new heist."

"Or kidnapping Micky," Peter added with a frown.

xxxx

Ruby sighed softly to herself as she stacked the cocktail glasses on the bar in a pyramid formation. Life had been dull and quiet without Baby Face around, and even though she did not miss the chases and the crimes and running from the police, she did miss him.

It was somewhat surprising that she had not been charged with any crimes. But then again, the police did not really know that she was anything beyond a girl working in the Purple Pelican whom Baby Face occasionally came to see between capers. She had been taken in for questioning when they had found her arriving at the canyon hideout, but she had said only that Baby Face had mentioned he would be there and that she had been worried about him, so she had gone to see what was happening. The police did not have any evidence to connect her with any of Baby Face's crimes, so they had let her go.

Was he truly dead? She had not seen the accident at the falls, but Rocco had described it to her when she had reached the canyon. She had been horrified.

Rocco had been the only member of Baby Face's new gang who had managed to avoid the police. He truly wanted to get away from the criminal underworld for good, after all the trouble he had ended up in, but it was not likely that he would be able to. Ruby could not imagine that she would stop being involved with the criminal element, as long as Baby Face was alive.

At the gasps of astonishment behind her she blinked in confusion and turned around. Was that muscleman assassin back again, the one who had easily overpowered another notorious assassin during a drunken brawl? They had turned the entire dive into a madhouse. She was not anxious to see them again.

But then her eyes widened in disbelief at the sight of the young man standing in the doorway. "Baby Face!" she cried, running over to him.

He regarded her calmly and coolly, as was his way. "Yeah, I made it back," he replied, and then led her away from everyone else. "Some idiot attacked me on the street," he told her gruffly, his eyes expressing his annoyance.

Ruby looked at him with worry. "Are you okay, Baby Face?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," he growled. "I just need something for this headache I've got." He reached up and rubbed at the back of his head in emphasis.

"I can get you something," Ruby offered, still concerned. Baby Face always tried to play down any injuries he received, so with him admitting that he was in pain it must have been a very bad assault. Quickly she took him into the backroom and began searching through the cupboards to find the pain relievers.

Baby Face leaned against the counter, observing her in silence.

After a moment Ruby located the aspirin and handed it to her beau, along with a glass of water. "Do you know who attacked you?" she asked. "It wasn't Tony's gang, was it?"

Baby Face grunted and swallowed the pill. "I don't think so," he replied. "They want me dead. They wouldn't just rough me up and leave me alone." He looked at Ruby upon seeing her confused expression. "Isn't it obvious?" he snapped. "I don't remember the attack! I just woke up laying on a bench and I realized what must have happened."

This was all the more alarming. And in addition, Ruby was still reeling from seeing him come in at all. She had been almost convinced of his death and then he had appeared. "Baby Face, everyone thinks you're dead," she said carefully after a moment.

Baby Face looked at her. "The police too?" he demanded.

"Uh huh." Ruby bit her lip. "They said that you were dead on the very day after you . . . fell," she finished quietly. "They found your hat, but not anything else."

"Idiots." Baby Face slammed the glass down on the counter and slumped into the nearest chair he could see. "They were just looking for a good excuse to say that I'm out of their hair for good. They should have known better."

He rubbed his eyes. He might have offered an explanation as to how he had survived the accident, but the truth was that he could not remember that, either. He was certain of his identity, and he remembered people such as Ruby and Tony, but the details of his life were lost to him. He assumed, of course, that this was due to the knock on the head he had taken. He certainly never stopped to think that perhaps he actually was not Baby Face at all.

Ruby watched him, seeing how weary he looked. "Maybe you should come rest, Baby Face," she suggested. "There's a cot back here that you could lay on. . . ."

"I'm fine," he grumbled. "I don't need to rest." He gazed up at her. "Where's Rocco and the gang?" He actually did not feel well enough to go about committing a heist at the moment, but he wanted to know where his gang members were so that he could contact them when he wanted to. After all, in a day or so he was certain to feel better. It was just a simple bump on the head.

"Most of them are in jail, Baby Face," Ruby said slowly. "Rocco's not, but I think he's the only one who got away."

Baby Face looked irritated as he began to toy with the ruby ring on his finger. "That's just a minor setback," he said finally. "It won't be hard to find others to pull into the mob. It never has been." And that was true. Baby Face had always been able to find people who wanted to join forces with him. Some of them knew of his notoriety and the fact that he had successfully pulled off so many crimes. They then wanted to be with him in order to get rich themselves. Others seemed to join him out of the fear of what he might do if they did not. And still others, such as Tony, had had even more complicated and twisted reasons.

Ruby sighed softly and came over to him. Gently she began massaging his shoulders. "Why don't we just go away, Baby Face?" she pleaded. "We could get away from all the crimes and the rival mobs and the danger. It seems like something is always going wrong. One of these days, you're probably going to get hurt really badly . . . or worse." She felt tears rising to her eyes. "I've thought that you were dead, too. . . ."

"You should've had more faith in me," Baby Face retorted. "I don't go down easily." He closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax as Ruby worked. She was doing a very good job. She could easily get a job as a professional massage therapist if she ever wanted. "And you know I'm not going to get out of the Mob," he continued. "We're making good money."

"But it would be better to quit when you're ahead," Ruby objected, a bit amazed that Baby Face was in such a relatively calm mood. She would have thought that after suffering such an attack, he would be seething. He must have been hurt quite badly and was exhausted. "I'm so afraid, Baby Face," she whispered. "I'm afraid that someday you're going to really get gunned down by someone who's angry at you, or that you'll get arrested again and they'll give you the death penalty. . . ."

"None of that's going to happen," Baby Face answered.

He frowned at the sound of angry and indignant yelling out in the main barroom. "What's going on out there?"

Ruby went over to the door to listen. "I don't know, Baby Face," she replied, "but it doesn't sound good." It also did not sound like the beginnings of a simple brawl. It sounded more like a loud and gruff voice was furiously interrogating the patrons. After a moment, Baby Face got up and came over to hear as well.

"Alright, punks," a gruff voice could be heard to snap, "we had a report from someone that a guy resembling Baby Face Morales showed up here a while ago. Now who's willing to tell me if that's the truth?" Silence was his answer and he grew all the more furious. "Am I going to have to cart everyone in as accessories to a crime?"

Baby Face's eyes narrowed. "It's a cop," he growled. "He'll probably start searching the place. We have to get out of here." There was a certain nervousness in his heart, which he did not understand. He had run from police officers many times and had not hesitated to kill them. And yet, he could not ignore the feeling that this was not who he was. That was preposterous, but the perception would not go away. Frustrated, he turned away and tried to disregard it.

"Where will we go, Baby Face?" Ruby asked. "If someone does say something, they'll probably mention me and the policeman will try to find out where I live, so I don't think we could go there." It was obvious that he was upset, but she felt sure it was because of the arrival of the officer.

Baby Face turned, heading for the back exit. Quickly, Ruby scurried after him.

"We won't," Baby Face replied as he grabbed her wrist and half-dragged her outside to where she had left her car. "Do you know where Rocco's staying?" he demanded, not wanting to admit that he could not remember what sort of a hideout they had last been using.

Ruby swiftly unlocked the doors and climbed into the driver's seat. "He told me, but I'm not sure if I can get there," she replied.

Baby Face growled, getting into the passenger seat. "You'd better," he retorted.

Ruby pealed out of the parking lot so quickly that he had to grab for his hat. "Watch it, baby!" he scolded. "Have you been taking lessons from Steve Blauner?"

"Sorry, Baby Face," Ruby apologized. "I just want to get us away from the police."

"Whatever," the mobster muttered as they sped around a corner.


	3. The Plot Thickens

By now the other Monkees had had to concede temporary defeat. They had been all over the city, to no avail, and now were trudging into the local police precinct, weary and discouraged.

"I just don't get how this happened," Mike frowned as they waited for their chance to speak to the desk sergeant. "It's like Micky's dropped off the face of the planet."

"Maybe he did," Peter said with wide-eyed seriousness.

Davy shook his head. "Oh Peter. . . ." He was about to say more, but he was abruptly interrupted by the appearance of Captain Hargrave, the one who had originally wanted Micky to go undercover as Baby Face.

"I thought you boys might show up," the man declared when he saw them standing there.

"Oh, because of Micky disappearing?" Peter asked innocently.

Captain Hargrave looked at him with intensity, the shock obvious in his eyes. "Micky's disappeared?" he exclaimed. That was not good at all, especially in light of the call that had come in to the department a short while ago. It seemed likely that the two events could very well be connected.

"Yeah," Mike confirmed, "that's right." He frowned. "If you didn't know about that, then what did you mean about thinking we'd come?"

Now it was the policeman's turn to blink in surprise. "I figured the press would've got hold of this news by now," he said. "We got a call saying that Baby Face Morales was seen going into the Purple Pelican an hour or so ago." He looked from Mike to Davy to Peter, seeing their stunned expressions.

"So he's alive?" Davy cried.

"I knew it!" Peter declared. "He must have taken Micky!"

Mike looked to the captain. "Has anyone gone out there to try to find him?" he wanted to know.

Hargrave nodded. "A highway patrol car was nearby when the report went through and the patrolman went inside to investigate. He says the people there aren't talking and that there's no sign of Baby Face. But that one girl who works there, Ruby, is missing." He frowned. "If Baby Face was there, it looks like they must have ran off together."

"Did they check her house?" Davy asked.

"They just got her address, and they're going there now," Hargrave replied, "but they probably won't find her. They've more than likely cleared out and are going somewhere else, maybe to a hideout."

"Well, we have to do something!" Davy said in frustration.

Hargrave sighed. "I know, but right now there isn't much we can do. I've put out an all-points bulletin for Baby Face, and I'll also do a missing persons report for Micky, but I don't know that either thing will help. If the two of them aren't together, people looking for them will probably get mixed up if they only see one." He ran a hand over his face. "And if they are together, anyone looking for them will probably get more confused than ever."

The other three Monkees looked at each other. That was likely very true.

xxxx

Baby Face did not relax until the car finally came to a halt in the bad part of town, in front of an older house that looked as if it were falling apart. It was a three-story mansion, and once had probably been one of the most pleasant houses in the area, but now it had seen better days. After one look at it, he had to wonder if he had decided to calm down too soon. Frowning, he looked to Ruby. "Rocco's staying _there?_" he demanded to know.

"I'm sure this is the place he told me about," Ruby replied as she undid her seatbelt. "He said it's not as bad on the inside."

Baby Face snorted, but otherwise did not comment on that. As he climbed out of the car he shot Ruby a stern look. "Next time, baby, _I'm_ driving!" he declared, pointing his forefinger at her in emphasis. He had not expected, or remembered, that Ruby was such a wild driver, but she had taken a lot of chances on the road and could have gotten them killed several different times. He was definitely not impressed.

Ruby glared at him when he turned away, but did not reply.

As they reached the porch, Baby Face banged on the door. "Rocco, open up," he called. Upon not receiving an answer he gave the abode a dark look. He leaned on the doorframe as he waited.

Ruby blinked at him in confusion. "I thought you'd just barge in, Baby Face," she remarked. He rarely ever had the courtesy to knock.

He turned to look at her. "Barge in?" he repeated vaguely as he straightened up. "Oh. Yeah, we might as well. Even if Rocco's not here, we have to go somewhere." With that he kicked the door open and walked into the darkened living room.

Once upon a time it may very well have been desirable. Now it was filled with various old furniture, some of it still covered by white sheets but most of it ready to be used. Some playing cards were spread across a table, an indication that someone had been there recently. Baby Face raised an eyebrow. That seemed to say that Rocco was not alone, so perhaps some of the other gang members had escaped arrest as well.

Ruby shut the door behind her and took a flashlight out of her purse. She could not deny that Baby Face had been acting somewhat strange ever since he had walked into the Purple Pelican. Had the knock on the head, in addition to what had happened to him when he had fallen last month, done something to his mind? It was not something she wanted to think, but it seemed highly possible.

Of course, there was also another possibility, which she also did not want to consider. The man with her might not even be Baby Face. It could be Micky Dolenz, for some reason. Perhaps he was doing undercover work to try to round up any gang members who had eluded the police. But she pushed that thought out of her mind. If this was not Baby Face, then that meant that the man she loved was still missing and probably was dead—and she did not want to accept that at all.

As Baby Face wandered into the next room, someone lunged at him out of the darkness. He jumped back, grabbing a nearby vase to use as defense. But just before he could throw it at his opponent, the other man backed away.

"Boss!" Rocco exclaimed, suddenly alarmed and embarrassed and confused.

"Rocco?" Baby Face frowned up at his lackey. "What's the matter with you? Didn't you hear me at the door?" He still clutched at the vase, not willing to set it aside just yet. For all he knew, Rocco had decided to turn against him the way Tony and the others had already done. And the uneasy feeling he had felt at the Purple Pelican had only increased now, instead of going away. It was only making him more confused and angry. Why was he feeling that way?

Rocco swallowed hard. "No, Boss," he said sheepishly, still shocked to see the mobster alive. "I was in the kitchen making a sandwich." And even if he had heard Baby Face at the door, he most likely would have not believed it and instead would have thought that it was someone trying to pretend to be him. After all this time, the gang largely believed that Baby Face had died.

Baby Face rolled his eyes and finally relinquished the vase. "The cops are looking for me, so we came here," he announced. "Are you here alone?"

Rocco shook his head. "Eddie and Charlie got out of jail," he reported, "and they're here too."

"Yeah?" Baby Face started to walk around him to go down the hall, not wanting to admit that he did not have any idea of who Eddie and Charlie were. "Did they dig their way out?" He supposed that they had come in after Tony and the others had turned against him, but to his annoyance he could not recall for certain. Hopefully the accident was not going to leave him with permanent memory loss. That would be highly inconvenient. He would not be able to conceal it for long.

"Nope," Rocco replied, "they had a crooked lawyer." He followed Baby Face after a moment. "How did you survive the fall, Boss?" he asked after a slight hesitation.

Ruby, who was now walking alongside Baby Face in the dimly lit corridor, watched him carefully. She could not help but notice that his gaze was darting about, as if he were nervous or uncomfortable, and it almost looked as though a vague flash of panic could be seen on his face before it was gone again—replaced by the cold expression that Ruby knew so well.

"I missed the rocks," he finally said in a smooth tone.

"Yeah," Rocco agreed, his tone slow and hesitant, "but still, you're in pretty good condition after what happened. You don't look banged up at all."

Baby Face grunted. "It's been a month." Seeing that they had reached the kitchen, he promptly went in and began looking through the cupboards and drawers for something to eat. The sight of the ancient icebox in the corner caused him to raise an eyebrow. "Does that thing actually work?" he asked, slipping out of using his gravelly tones. He blinked in surprise at the realization.

"Yeah, Boss, it does," Rocco replied, not seeming to have noticed. "Eddie had to tinker with it, but he got it running!" He seemed quite pleased about it too.

Baby Face nodded in approval and opened it.

Ruby bit her lip and sat down at the table as she continued to observe him. The Baby Face she knew could speak in a more normal, less threatening voice, but he did not usually like to. This made her all the more suspicious, and yet she still could not say for certain if this was not Baby Face. Of course, she did not want to openly question him—not yet. She would wait a bit longer and see what happened.

xxxx

Far away from all of this, in the main part of the city, another figure was stumbling down the sidewalk in an apparent daze. He reached up, rubbing his forehead in obvious pain, and held out his other hand in front of him to try to ensure that he would not bump into anything. His navy blue dress pants were wrinkled; his white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top. His dark brown hair was a disheveled mess, flying in all directions and into his eyes.

He paid little attention to any of this. To an observer he looked as though he was drunk—or else suffering from a terrible hangover, but neither was true.

He was, however, in a very bad daze and very unaware of where he was or what he was doing. His thoughts were in a confused muddle, and had been ever since he had escaped from a crooked hospital several suburbs away. He could recall very little of what had been happening, but his most immediate thought had been to get far from there.

He did not hear the car honking until it was almost on top of him. He looked up, vaguely seeing it trying to put on its brakes, and struggled to dive out of the way. But he was not quick enough.

It was not long before the police, an ambulance, and the crowds began to arrive. Stunned and confused passers-by gathered around, asking the same questions again and again. Was he alive? What had happened? Had it been an accident?

The man who had hit him tried to explain to the police how it had been—that he had not meant to strike the boy, that he had been honking but that he had not been heard. "He's probably drunk, or on drugs, or something," he said finally, crossing his arms and wishing that he could simply leave.

The paramedics pushed through the crowds and knelt down, examining the victim. He was still alive. It soon looked as though he had not been hurt seriously by the car and that he was unconscious because of striking his head on the pavement as he had gone down. With care they placed him on a stretcher and searched his pockets for any identification once they had him in the ambulance.

"Hey," announced the one, blinking in confusion, "according to this I.D. card, the guy's name is Micky Dolenz."

One of the police officers looked up in astonishment. "Micky Dolenz, eh?" he repeated. "His friends reported him missing several hours ago."

The second paramedic shook his head, reaching to close the ambulance doors. "Well, it looks like he did too much partying," he remarked. "By all indications, he was high on drugs when he was struck."

xxxx

It was not long before Mike, Peter, and Davy were called and informed of the outlandish story. In stunned shock they hurried to the hospital, unable to believe what they had been told.

"They must be joking!" Davy said in indignation as he climbed out of the Monkeemobile. "Micky doesn't do drugs."

Mike slowly shook his head. "We hope," he muttered, undoing his seatbelt. He could not believe the story, either, but he had heard of many people who did drugs and were able to keep it a secret from even those closest to them. It was a worry. Was there even the slightest chance that there was another side of Micky that they did not know?

"We did the song _Kicks_," Peter spoke up as he also got out, "and when we were first learning it Micky thought it was really neat to do an anti-drug song." He followed the other two inside, his stance and walk stubbornly straight. He refused to believe that Micky had been willingly taking drugs. Surely there was something more to the story.

"Hey!" Davy exclaimed then, triumphant at the idea that had just come to him. "Maybe Baby Face had him drugged up because he hoped that he wouldn't get away." This seemed possible. Certainly it was more plausible than the idea that Micky had gone out and deliberately gotten high.

Mike blinked. "You might have something there," he admitted as they went inside and to the waiting room.

To their collective relief, they did not have to wait long before the doctor came to see them. When they saw the older man, the three Monkees immediately leaped up and mobbed him, demanding answers. He looked at them, obviously somewhat overwhelmed, and held up his hands for silence. "Micky was not seriously injured in the car accident," he told them then, "though it does look like he has a mild concussion." He frowned, hesitant to tell them the rest.

"What about the drugs?" Peter asked.

Mike nodded. "We were told on the phone that he was stoned."

The doctor sighed. "Well," he said slowly, "he was. But," he went on before the young men could protest, "it looks like he was being drugged on purpose, and possibly without his permission. Frankly, from the tests we've been doing, it looks like they were using various strong painkillers and anesthetics to keep him subdued." He shook his head. "It baffles me. From all indications, it's been going on for a long time."

"How could that be?" Davy cried. "Micky hasn't been gone that long!"

Mike narrowed his eyes. "It doesn't make sense," he agreed.

"Maybe Micky can tell us what happened," Peter said hopefully. "Is he awake?"

The doctor studied him for a moment, then at last nodded. "He was half-awake when I checked on him," he reported, "but he's still a good deal out of it. I wouldn't expect him to make sense for a few hours yet."

"We want to see him anyway," Peter said.

Mike gave a firm nod. "We certainly do," he said.

"Even if he was still unconscious, we'd want to see him," Davy added.

"Alright, I understand," the physician interrupted. He led them to the room and then left them there.

Micky was lying in the bed, his eyes partially open as he half-glared at the wall. He did not seem to notice the others at all, either because of the lingering effects of the drugs or because he was deep in thought—or both. The other Monkees approached slowly, worried. What, exactly, had Baby Face done to him? Certainly this had been the gangster's handiwork! Who else would have done it?

Peter reached out to lay a hand on the brunet's shoulder. "Micky?" he said with hope.

Micky gave a wild start and looked up at Peter with a dark glare, not speaking.

The blond Monkee's eyes widened in surprise and he swallowed hard. It was horrible to see his friend give him such an annoyed and almost hate-filled look. Immediately he backed up, crushed.

Davy was stunned as well, but he reached and put an arm around Peter's shoulders in a comforting manner. "Hey, it's alright, Peter," he tried to say. "He's probably still not really with it, like the doctor said."

Mike nodded. "I'll bet he doesn't know we're here," he added, trying to speak quietly. But even so, he could not deny that Micky was seriously disturbing him. Now the drummer was looking all of them up and down, his eyes never losing their cold, cruel gleam. When he stared down Mike, the Texan tried to stare right back—and then soon looked away. It was almost as if he were actually looking at . . . but no, that was impossible. He would not have Micky's identification card!

"Hey, Micky," Davy finally said after another stretch of silence, "how are you feeling?"

"Can you talk to us?" Mike added, giving a frown of his own as Micky simply continued to scrutinize him and the others. Did Micky falling and hitting his head have anything to do with this strange behavior?

At last Micky replied, but it did not help to ease the others' minds at all. "I'm not your friend, punks," he growled in a slurred, gravelly voice. "I don't know where he is, but you're looking in the wrong place." With that he closed his eyes and slipped back into unconsciousness.


	4. Realizations

**Notes: Gah, I'm sorry for the outrageous delay. I wrote the whole story six years ago, and I've been so occupied that sometimes I don't always remember to post chapters for an already-completed story on another website.**

Baby Face was going about making himself a tuna and mayonnaise sandwich as he listened to Rocco tell him about what had been happening during his absence. According to him, everything had been relatively calm since then. Tony's gang had not been heard from and none of them knew if Tony was actually alive. It was possible that he had died later on from the wounds he had sustained during the gang war.

"What will you do if he's still alive, Boss?" Rocco asked then.

Baby Face grunted as he slapped the roof of the sandwich onto the bottom half. "We'll just let him stay alive, for now," he replied, reaching for the red wine he had found in the ice box. "It'd be more profitable to worry about the next heist instead of trying to knock him off."

Ruby was secretly relieved to hear him say this, but she watched in concern as he poured the wine. "Gee, Baby Face, are you sure you should drink that tonight?" she asked, hesitant. "I mean, when you got hurt like you did, maybe you should wait. It might make your headache worse."

"Cool it, baby," was the retort. "I'll be fine." With that, Baby Face raised the goblet to his lips, gulped down half of the contents . . .

. . . And promptly began choking. Ruby and Rocco stared at him in bemusement as he leaped from the table and ran out of the room, presumably to look for the nearest bathroom so that he could spit the liquor into the sink.

"I thought he always handled wine really well," Rocco said with a blink.

"_He_ does," Ruby sighed, sinking into a nearby chair. That was another clue that the Baby Face with her was not actually Baby Face. Now she was very disheartened. This one must be Micky. She had wanted to believe so desperately that her Baby Face had returned, and for a while she had been certain that he had, but the idiosyncracies she had been observing were stacking up against him. And if Micky was with her, the real Baby Face most likely was dead, just as she had feared.

Rocco was still bewildered. "Maybe he's not feeling well after that accident he had," he suggested.

"Maybe," Ruby said softly.

She continued to think it over. Somehow she had to get him alone and think of a way to get him to slip up and admit his identity as Micky Dolenz—if that was truly who he was. Just asking him would not do any good, of course. If it was Baby Face, he would only become furious, and if it was Micky, he would insist that he was Baby Face.

And if she found out that it was Micky, what would she do then? She still was not sure.

xxxx

Linda sighed softly to herself and slumped back into the couch. She was tired of everything—being part of the mob, hiding from the police, planning new capers. . . . She could not count the number of times in the past two months that she had just wished she was dead. She did not believe in committing suicide, but even if she did it was doubtful that she would have the courage to go through with it. Instead she wandered through life on automatic pilot now, just doing what she had to do in order to stay alive and to keep others alive as well.

"When is it all going to end?" she murmured, tossing aside the morning newspaper she had been looking through.

"It's not going to," came a flat voice from behind her.

Linda turned around. Tony was coming out of one of the bedrooms, buttoning the cuff of his shirtsleeve. He looked at her with the usual cold gaze, but there was something else in his eyes—something that indicated that he was very familiar with what he was talking about. She had to wonder about that, but it was not likely that he would ever speak of his past, and especially not to her. He was a very aloof person.

Now he pointed his forefinger at her as he continued to speak. "You got yourself into this mess," he stated, "and it's just going to get worse and worse. It always starts out small, but before you know it you're in too deep and there's not any way to change it." He looked bitter and unsympathetic as he said the last part, and Linda watched him with narrowed and curious eyes, even as she felt the sting of his words.

"I guess you would know, wouldn't you," she said at last in a quiet voice. "I never did know what happened to you back in Detroit, but Baby Face always acted like he did. And you've always seemed so vindictive and malicious, just like him. . . ."

"Don't compare me to him," Tony snapped, his brown eyes flashing with fury. Linda had struck a nerve, and they both knew it. Tony tried not to think too much about the past, and the events that had led up to him quitting the police department and joining forces with Baby Face. But the fact remained that he did think about it—very often—and there was still something intangible that connected him with his former associate, even though he hated to acknowledge it. Baby Face was the only person besides Tony himself who knew and understood the full truth. . . .

Linda got up and walked over to him, her eyes steady. She was not afraid of him, although with the intense self-hatred she had been feeling she doubted that she would fear anyone again. But aside from that, Tony never had been someone she had been apprehensive towards. He was not likely to hurt her, as somehow she had the feeling that he was still honorable enough that he would not harm a woman.

"After you were shot, you drifted in and out of consciousness for hours," she informed him, studying him carefully for a reaction. "Sometimes you talked about someone named Alice. . . ." She paused, their eyes meeting in an intense gaze for several moments before either of them spoke again. "She must have been important to you."

Tony looked at her for another endless moment before turning away. He did not volunteer a reply, but the pained look in his eyes had been enough of one. He had loved once.

"You didn't have to save my life," he said after a moment. "It's not like you're a part of the gang or that you even want to be."

Linda sighed. "You're right, I'm not and I don't. But I didn't want to see even you die." She gave him a searching look. "You must have been a good person at one point," she said then. "What happened to you? What changed you?"

"That's not your business," he retorted.

Before she could ask him any other questions that he did not want to answer, he crossed the room to the couch and picked up the newspaper that Vince had brought in from the city that morning. Scanning it over, he soon found a bit of information that he was not pleased about in the least—but he was not particularly surprised, either. His eyes narrowed.

Linda crossed her arms, observing him. "It's like he just can't be killed," she remarked. He must have discovered the news that Baby Face had been seen in the Los Angeles area the previous night.

She herself had mixed feelings about it. She was not happy at all to know that he was back, but she also did not want to try any more to have him killed. After the horror of the gang war that she had witnessed, she had made a firm vow to herself to never be involved with killing anyone again—even if it was a vicious mobster. Perhaps saving Tony's life had been a way of sealing that promise.

"He's like a cockroach," Tony muttered in agreement.

If Linda had not been feeling so gloomy, she might have laughed.

xxxx

Mike, Davy, and Peter were at a complete loss as to what to do or what was wrong with Micky. After the doctors had kept him overnight in the hospital for observation, they had declared him able to be discharged. And so he had returned to the Pad with the others, but he was still not at all the same.

He claimed that he did not remember saying that he was not their friend, and that he did not know what had happened to him the past night, and so the others had been forced to believe him. But there was still something distant and vague about him—not to mention the dark look that remained in his eyes even when he tried to say something perfectly casual.

"I just have a really bad feeling about this," Mike sighed after breakfast was over and Micky had gone upstairs to his and Mike's room. "Something doesn't seem right."

"Maybe this isn't really Micky," Peter frowned. "Maybe it's that robot again."

Davy shook his head. "No, it wouldn't be the robot," he replied. "He wasn't sneaky and vicious. Besides, this guy doesn't have his feet on backwards." He leaned forward, resting a hand on his cheek. "Either Micky's just not feeling good at all—which isn't so far-fetched, really—or else. . . ." He sighed.

"Or else we've got Baby Face Morales with us," Mike grimly finished.

Davy and Peter both turned to look at him.

Mike frowned. "Come on, I can't be the only one who's thought of that," he said. "It makes sense, kinda. . . ." But there were also holes in that theory. What would Baby Face Morales have been doing wandering the streets high on hospital drugs? The way the doctor had described it, it had sounded as though the one they thought was Micky had been held captive and purposely kept sedated by the medications. And yet there was still the previously discussed problem of Micky not being missing long enough for the drugs to have been administered as much as the doctor believed they had been.

The three Monkees pondered over all of this again. Then Peter posed another problem.

"I thought Baby Face was seen going into the Purple Pelican," he said in confusion. "Wasn't that only an hour or so before Micky was hit by the car?" He scratched his head. "Baby Face wouldn't have had time to get drugged like that either, if he was the one who got hit instead of Micky." The entire thing was absolutely bewildering.

Davy clanked against the totem pole in frustration. "And there's something else to think about," he spoke up. "If we've got Baby Face here, then where's Micky?" This bothered him extremely and it made him want to simply decide that it was Micky who was with them. But it did not explain the drummer's odd behavior, or his eyes.

"Okay," Mike sighed then, unable to even begin to think of the answer to Davy's query. "Let's just stop and think a minute. Maybe Micky's just really had it rough, getting drugged and hit by a car and crashing on the sidewalk. And maybe he's just not able to really be in a good mood right now, even though he's trying. I mean, I know he can usually seem to find a way to be cheerful in any situation, but even he could end up having enough. He's been through a lot these past months, with Baby Face causing trouble and all." He leaned back. "And I don't see why Baby Face would have Micky's I.D. card."

"Maybe he was pretending to be Micky," Davy suggested. "I don't think it'd be under him, after what happened when you got them confused at the police station."

Peter nodded. "That's very true," he agreed, and then frowned. "But how would he get the card in the first place?"

Mike shrugged. "He could've gone in and had it made up using Micky's name," he replied. "I don't know. But those kinda crooks have all kinds of sneaky ways to get what they want." His eyes widened when the door opened upstairs. "Boy, I hope he hasn't heard us talking," he murmured. If it was Micky, he would probably feel hurt that the others would not realize it. And if it was Baby Face, he must have some scheme in mind and would not be merciful if he knew that the others were on to him.

"Just act casual," Davy hissed as Micky came down the stairs.

"Casual," Peter repeated. He looked up at Micky and smiled. "Hi, Micky! It's good to see you again."

The brunet raised an eyebrow at him. "You just saw me about twenty minutes ago," he pointed out.

Peter looked concerned for a moment as he tried to think of a suitable reply, but then he shrugged and continued to smile. "Well, it's still good to see you again, anyway," he said. "I mean, after all the terrible things that have been happening. . . ." Part of him hoped that this actually was not Micky, since he was acting so strangely. But the other part of him worried about Micky's current location if this was not him at all. He could not make sense out of any of what was taking place, and Mike and Davy were not faring much better.

Micky continued to walk down the stairs, apparently not even considering sliding down the banister the way he usually did. When he reached the bottom, he went over and laid on the backless couch, throwing an arm over his eyes. "Yeah, sure," he mumbled.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright, Micky?" Mike asked now. "You sure took a bad knock on the head."

"And you're pretty bruised up from the car hitting you," Davy added.

"I'm fine," Micky answered. There was a slight edge to his voice.

Peter did not take the hint. "Well, I sure hope you're okay," he said. "We were really worried when we got the call from the hospital that you'd been hurt, and that you'd been on drugs. I mean, we know you don't even take drugs, so we couldn't figure out what had happened. . . ."

Micky sat up abruptly, clapping his hand over Peter's mouth. "Shut up already! I said I'm fine!" he snapped, the gravel beginning to slip back into his voice. He glared in annoyance at Peter, who stared back at him in shock.

Mike shook his head and looked to Davy. "Something's . . . something's wrong here," he stated in typical Mike fashion. "I . . . I don't think this is Micky. Uh _uh._" He frowned as Peter slowly backed away and Micky slowly relaxed again.

Davy watched the scene with intensity. He was also becoming quite convinced that this was not their friend, but this realization was giving rise not only to the question of where Micky actually was, but how they would find him and how they would prove that this one was not him. When he turned to look back at Mike, however, he blinked in surprise. Their leader looked like he had an idea.

"Hold on, guys," Mike announced then, speaking in a calm and rational way. Peter and Micky turned to look at him too. "I know it's been rough for all of us, so why don't we cool off by practicing for our gig tomorrow night?" He reached for his guitar. "Didn't you say you'd been working on that song that you were having trouble with, Micky?" He pointedly turned to look at the drummer, whose eyes widened briefly in surprise.

"Uh, yeah, sure," Micky said then, his voice still sounding gravelly. "Yeah, I was. But I'm kinda tired. Why don't you practice Davy's song first?" He glanced at Peter as he said this, prompting the blond Monkee to blink in confusion.

"Micky, I'm Peter," he reminded the other. "Don't you remember?"

A momentary look of frustration passed through Micky's eyes. "Yeah, of course," he answered then, frowning at Peter. "Why would I forget?"

"Well, I mean, you looked at me when you were talking about Davy," Peter answered helplessly, "so I just wondered. . . ."

Mike interrupted them by loudly tuning his guitar. The last thing they needed was for Micky and Peter to start arguing. If this was Baby Face, and Mike was increasingly certain it was, then Peter could get hurt if the mobster got angry enough. "Okay, Davy, let's go," he said. "Are you feeling up to playing the drums on this song, Micky?" He looked back to the other brunet and could almost hear him curse in his mind.

"Nah, I don't think so," Micky answered, crossing his arms. "Just go on without me. I don't want to hold you up."

Davy watched this with interest. Micky was not the type to admit that he was not feeling up to par. Normally Micky would want to get back to work even if he knew that he would probably strain something by doing so. Davy bit his lip, reaching for his maracas.

"Hey," Peter spoke up suddenly, "I wonder if Baby Face was seen today." The other Monkees were not sure if he was deliberately saying this to get a reaction from Micky or if he had just randomly picked something to talk about, but they all turned to look at him with questions in their eyes.

"Why would he have been?" Micky grunted, viciously staring the other Monkee down.

Peter gave a helpless shrug. "Well, he was seen yesterday going into the Purple Pelican," he replied. "I guess we didn't tell you about it."

Micky leaped up, heading for the door. "Darn tootin' you didn't tell me," he snapped. Then he stopped, seeming to think things over. When he spoke again, it was in a voice more fitting to their friend. "Hey, guys, I remembered something I have to do. I'll be back later!" With that he was running outside with every intent of getting away in the Monkeemobile. As he went, his thoughts raced.

So Baby Face had been seen at the Purple Pelican? But that was impossible. He had not been back there. What did that mean? Could those fools' friend have been the one who had been seen there? The brunet's lip curled in anger. Had he not already learned his lesson from tangling with the Mob before? Apparently he had not. And that meant that the real Baby Face Morales had to teach it to him again.

The other Monkees watched him leap into the driver's seat and back out of the driveway. "There's no question about it," Mike declared. "That's not Micky."

"So what are we waiting for?" Davy exclaimed. "Let's go after him! Maybe he'll lead us to the real one!"

"We still have our unicycles," Peter put in.

Mike nodded. "Alright, then. Come, my faithful cohorts. Away!"


End file.
